


Closer

by threadoflife



Series: sherlock ficlets [25]
Category: Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 16:42:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10948560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threadoflife/pseuds/threadoflife
Summary: Freebatch porn, Martin wears headphones and listens to NIN's "Closer" while he's got Ben bent overHello, crack





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

> No redeeming value whatsoever idfk
> 
> Also called "crack"

The mattress was more forgiving than the wooden table he’d been bent over last week. His face, shoved into the pillow, thanked him for it.

Behind him, Martin was humming, a familiar song: hmm-hmm… hm-hm-h-hm-hm-hmmmmmm… Ben swore he could feel his heart pulse in time with the rhythm of Martin’s pleased humming, though he knew logic said otherwise; the rhythm of Martin’s lithe yet powerful hips dictated all of Ben’s physical responses.

It wasn’t savage fucking, though Ben was biting the pillow savagely himself. It wasn’t gentle, either. It was persistent, a continuous, patient push and pull of Martin’s hips, the tow of his cock in and out of Ben that seemed to go on forever stoking a low fire that grew in size and intensity until Ben’s arms and thighs–covered in goosebumps–were twitching occasionally, and Ben’s cock, pressed between the sheet and his stomach, was leaking generously. Ben was ridiculously wet, not just around his hole.

The thought made him gasp-whimper, twitch again. The twitch almost broke their rhythm, his hips stuttering in an aborted jerk forwards when they should have met Martin’s on a backstroke. Martin’s reaction was instantaneous: the humming broke off, interrupted by a hard slap on Ben’s arse cheek–a noise which made Ben flush hotly and groan instinctively–and Martin said, a tad peeved, “Keep still,” and then stilled himself, to Ben’s disappointment.

It had the opposite, undesired effect. Ben muttered, “Cruel,” and let Martin see how very unimpressed he was by tilting his head and showing Martin the pouting curve of his mouth, just the side of it curled down. It made Martin chuckle–which in turn destroyed the petulant curve of Ben’s mouth–and bend forward.

“Love,” he murmured, and the hand petting soothingly down Ben’s side, nails raking slightly over tense skin, was, oh, lovely. “Sorry. Didn’t mean that. Let me just…”

And under Martin’s gentle yet firm palm on his nape, Ben went willingly downwards again.

The scary–secretly thrilling–catch was: Martin had intuitively sensed Ben’s mood and responded accordingly. For a man with a loud mouth, Martin was surprisingly sensitive. He was currently wearing headphones, his best pair for maximum pleasure and best experience, and could not hear a single sound Ben made, neither groan nor sigh.

He didn’t need to. Martin was not only spectacular at fucking; listening to music and fucking happily away at Ben’s arse while Ben let himself be used like a fleshlight, like a toy, like a willing hole–that worked wonders for the both of them.

God, did it ever work wonders.

“Help me…” Martin was murmuring lowly from behind, dragging his cock back until only the head was settled inside Ben. “I got no soul to tell…”

Ben lost his breath with the next slow slide inside, hot and thick and stretching him so widely it felt bigger than it was.

“The only thing that works for me… help me get away from myself.”

And then he could hear the satisfied sigh from Martin’s mouth when he stayed buried like that to the hilt, and he had a vivid impression of Martin rolling his beautiful, compact shoulders and stretching his neck, because he was so relaxed this afternoon, so lazy, and so bloody competent still it made Ben want to claw at the bedsheets. Martin’s unhurried, self-evident confidence had always been his weakness.

No wonder Ben laid down and let himself be used so thoroughly.

He had his eyes closed because he knew what followed.

“I wanna–”

The change was instant: the “love” was out of Martin’s mouth now; he was snarling.

“–fuck you–”

And Martin shoved forward, and there was the savagery: all the power of his body concentrated in the vicious push of his hips.

“–like an animal.”

Ben did claw at the bedsheets. God, he wanted it to go on and on. He wanted the limp to show for it. He wanted people to stare at him and knew what he’d been doing, and whom. God, Ben wanted–wanted so much–

“Wanna feel you from the inside,” Martin snarled, jackhammering forward and back, fast and hard and so deep Ben swore he’d feel him in his throat if it went on like this.

Martin’s hand closed around Ben’s nape again, kept him pressed down, subdued, while Martin leaned forward and shifted all his weight onto that hand, and Ben lost his breath, couldn’t inhale properly while Martin gave no shit and went rogue on his arse, as if–

God, Jesus fuck, Christ, as if Ben was his favourite toy. Ben wanted, he wanted so much to be Martin’s favourite toy.

“You,” Martin managed, and behind his closed, burning eyelids Ben could see the tendons in Martin’s gorgeous neck stand out as he gritted his teeth. Shove, pull, push, brutal, insistent, perfect–

“You get me closer to God,” Martin hissed, and Ben’s cock quite agreed, happily following Martin’s religious experience and meeting God.

Ben didn’t mind–too much–being only Martin’s second favourite toy.


End file.
